


Secret Admirer

by Koruga



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Obliviousness, Stranger-Typical Nonsense, everything is implied because barnabas bennett simply Does Not Notice Things, implied/referenced Skinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koruga/pseuds/Koruga
Summary: When a pair of delivery men come to Barnabas's door with a box, he isn't entirely sure what to think. But he's happy to accept their generosity, and return some of his own in kind.
Relationships: Breekon/Hope
Comments: 16
Kudos: 67
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus





	Secret Admirer

**Author's Note:**

> Claps hands together alright! First of all, tons of thanks to Judie for proofreading/betaing this for me. I've finally written a fic for everyone's favourite characters -- Breekon, Hope, and Barnabas Bennett! A match made somewhere, at least, and I think I'm carving out a niche for myself as a writer of whatever the opposite of 'crack treated seriously' is.
> 
> Some research was done on the validity of the presents given in this fic, and the largest discrepency is the appearance of matryoshka dolls, which were invented some eighty years after this fic takes place. I have chosen to say that the Stranger invented them early solely to try and fuck with people.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Barnabas was deep in his stitching when there was a knock at the door. He would have missed it, had it not come twice.

It wasn't unusual for him to have visitors, even at this time in the evening. The tailory had closed for the day, but Barnabas had a few regulars who would often come in after hours for special fittings or to receive their finished clothes. Those ones rarely knocked, however, and even during the day most customers simply walked in to peruse his fabrics and catch his attention. Barnabas frowned slightly and put down his work, ambling over to the door and opening it up.

In front of him stood two very large men. Not the largest he'd seen in his life, but very well close to it, imposing in form and stature and nearly identical to one another. Barnabas would have almost mistaken them for twins, were it not for the way they positioned themselves. Two parts of a whole, perhaps, but not related by blood. "How can I help you two?" Barnabas asked brightly, glancing between the men's glassy eyes. "Unfortunately, we're closed at the moment, but if you'd like to make an appointment —"

"Delivery for Mr. Bennett," one of the men grunted in a thick Russian accent. The larger one, he thought, if only marginally so — they really were difficult to tell apart. The other one, the smaller one, pushed a large box into Barnabas's chest, throwing him off-balance.

He stumbled to regain his footing, and looked curiously at the box. "Thank you, but I don't remember ordering anything. My shipments came in last week, and I'm in no rush for more materials." He quirked a brow as he stared down at the box; it was deceptively light for its size, as if there was nothing in it at all.

The two men looked at each other, then back at Barnabas. "From an admirer," grunted the maybe-smaller one, and Barnabas's fair cheeks flushed a dark red.

_An admirer._ It seemed so unlikely to be the case, for anyone to admire Barnabas from afar. He wasn't exactly the most hot of commodities, and even if someone did appreciate him in that way, they'd have more luck just coming out and talking to him directly. It wasn't as if there was much in the way of competition for them, was there?

Perhaps it was somebody he knew, he considered as he stammered out a thanks and opened up the box. Perhaps he should have waited until they left, but he was too flustered and excited to think about his manners. Within the box was a small stitched doll, seemingly made from rags and thickly stuffed with loose thread. The limbs were simple strips of fabric sewn on, limp and useless, and where its eyes would be, there were two stitched crosses, out of which a pair of thin needles stuck.

It was _adorable._ Barnabas picked it up with a sense of wonder, showing it to the two strange delivery men. "A pincushion! It's adorable, you'll have to give my thanks to whoever sent it." He squished the doll's little overstuffed torso, squeaking his excitement. Such a cute little thing would surely be adored by his customers and assistants alike. 

But where were his manners? Barnabas put the box down and rushed over to his desk to grab a few coins from his purse. Back to the door, he gave both men a crown and a smile. "Quite kind of you to deliver it to me. I hope you two men have a wonderful day, and tell whoever sent this gift that I'd love to meet them if they have the time." And then he shut the door, walking back to his desk and humming as he considered his new little gift.

  
  


The two men outside stared at the door, then back at one another.

"Hm."

"Did not work."

"Will have to think of something better."  
  
"If we want his skin."

  
  


* * *

  
  


A few days had passed since the acquisition of Barnabas's new pincushion, and his admirer was still fresh in his brain. His assistants were rather wary of the thing — Greer had called it 'eerie' and asked if Barnabas had to keep it around, while Lewis tried to avoid looking at it entirely, claiming it looked too much like a poppet doll for comfort. Barnabas didn't quite understand their concern, but he took it to heart, and kept the doll in his desk when others were around. It was a shame, but such a thing had to be done, to be considerate of others.

When the knocks came again, Barnabas was ready for it. He hopped up with his purse in hand, smiling widely as he opened the door. "Hello again!" he chirped, looking up at the pair. They really were enormous — they looked about like what one might expect from a pair of Russian delivery workers. Big, thick, taciturn, rarely giving direct eye contact. They had another box in their hands, and Barnabas failed in his attempts to not get his hopes up that it might be another gift from his mysterious admirer. "What can I help you with today?"

"Delivery." The larger one gave him the box this time, and Barnabas opened it up to find a large wooden doll. It looked like a woman, more or less, with warm curls and painted cheeks. Barnabas picked it up with one hand, feeling its weight, until the bottom part fell off, and another doll tumbled out of the first one's belly.

Barnabas squeaked in concern, and the two men seemed to perk up slightly as he fell down to the ground so he could pick up the pieces. The second doll had also split open, revealing a smaller doll inside, and Barnabas's rush of apologies to breaking it soon turned into a mild sense of confusion over what, exactly, it was he was looking at.

A series of dolls, each one perfectly fitted into one another. Barnabas picked up the smallest one, so finely detailed, and idly thought it looked a bit like him yawning. He plopped it into the next largest one, then the next, carefully building it back up into the whole. "Well, I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like this before! I don't know quite what to call it, but it's very nice, and finely made. I'll try to take better care of it than I am right now, it's getting late and I've never been the most coordinated man." He handed them another pair of crowns, cradling the strange wooden doll in his arms. "I don't suppose this admirer is willing to come forward yet?"

The two men looked at one another, sharing some emotion Barnabas wasn't confident enough to diagnose.

"No."

"Shy thing."

"Does not want you to know how are feeling."

  
  
Their accents _were_ hard to parse, and Barnabas could swear they were missing a few words there, but who was he to judge men who spoke twice as many languages as a normal man? Barnabas would hate to be judged on the quality of his tongue in Arabic, what with how awful his accent was, and these men should be given the same courtesy. "Of course. Well, it's very kind of you to bring these to me — this to me? I don't know how many gifts this one counts as, but it's very generous of this mystery admirer. I'll try to have something for them by next week, if you'd like to come and pick it up?"

Another long pause, before the pair nodded in unison.

"Good plan."

"Thank you for invitation."

"Wonderful! I'll make you some tea, as well. This time next week, gentlemen, I'll leave the light on for you!" He waved goodbye and closed the door, plopping the strange doll(s) on the side table near the door. It made a nice conversation piece, if nothing else, and he'd have to take it apart to see all the sweet little faces.

* * *

  
  
  


The next week went by in a blur of work and play, and Barnabas only barely got himself ready by the time the knock came. He answered the door with no small amount of cheer, dressed spiffily as he could make himself. "Hello again, you two! Won't you come in?" He gestured the two inside, absolutely beaming as they entered his little shop. "It's a bit messy, I'll admit, but I've prepared some tea for the both of you if you'd like to sit down." He'd set up a small table for them, its usual fabric debris replaced by a cute teapot and three dainty teacups. They sat down in unison, and Barnabas followed their lead shortly thereafter.

Sat down, the height advantage was completely negated, and the men were nearly identical. Barnabas wanted to ask their names, but at this point, it felt like it had already been too long, and asking would only make things uncomfortable. One of them set a box down next to the teapots, and Barnabas offered his own in turn.

"This one is actually a gift for you two," he explained as he slid the box to their side. "I thought you might get cold during the night — neither of you seem to have very warm coats — and I didn't have your measurements, so I made you scarves." They weren't much, just wool knit together into something warm, but Barnabas was proud of the circular patterns he had given them, and they looked to be long enough to do the trick.

He opened his own box carefully, and pulled out what seemed to be a large piece of leather, easily the size of a small blanket. It was dark, slightly stiff to the touch, and it seemed rather old. An heirloom, perhaps? Barnabas turned it over in his hands, and looked up at his guests in mild confusion.

They were staring at him intently, as if searching for a reaction. There wasn't as much to say about this specific gift, but it was obviously very generous — such a large, uncut piece of leather in such good condition, so unique. Barnabas gave another smile and bowed his head in thanks. "As beautiful as always, thank you. I'm sure I can put it to good use." He pulled up another box, this one for his admirer. "I'll ask if you can give this to my admirer? I don't know much about them, but I managed to find some chocolate, and embroidered a few handkerchiefs to remind them of me. There's also a letter in there, but that's rather more personal." He flushed a bit as he handed them the second box. "Take good care of it, will you?"

"Will do."

"Treat self well."

And off they went. Barnabas picked up their empty tea mugs, and noted with some amusement the mess they'd left behind. It seemed as if their large hands hadn't quite been enough to handle the delicate teacups, and they'd spilt the majority of it onto their chairs. Pity, but Barnabas had plenty of spare cloth to mop it up with.

* * *

  
  
  


"And you've no idea who this secret admirer is?" Jonathan asked skeptically. He was staring down at the newest gift the two men had given him, a small automaton that drew little human figures of three different kinds.

"Well, I know they know me. And they seem to know my assistants as well — see, one of my customers pointed out how this little automaton can draw their likenesses, and you would have to have come in at least a few times if you were to capture their faces like this." Barnabas plucked the little piece of paper from the automaton's grasp. It did indeed look like Lewis James, his head thrown back into a yell of some kind. Barnabas had tried to show this one to his assistants, but Greer had avoided all of the gifts like the plague, and Lewis accused the things of being the cause of his near-constant migraines recently. Barnabas had already been forced to pack up the little multiple doll and bring it home, where it sat cheerfully by his bedroom window, and this new gift had joined it shortly thereafter.

Jonathan frowned. "It seems awfully complex for a simple gift. I would be more cautious of strange men bringing you things as gifts — they could be dangerous, you know."

"They're not! These little things are harmless, John." Barnabas gave the little mechanical artist a pat on the head, smiling softly. "I think it's sweet that someone would think of me like this, and I've been considering who it might be. I don't speak to a great number of people in my day-to-day life, and there's only so many people I can imagine would go to all this trouble for me." He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. "And most of them would be more likely to come out and say it. Which is why I asked you to help me. You're one of the brightest men I know, and while I know this isn't your area of expertise, I trust you intimately."

It also helped that Barnabas was certain this wasn't the work of Jonathan Fanshawe. John was far more likely to simply tell Barnabas he liked him, on the off chance that such a thing was even possible. Of all the people Barnabas could confide in, John was, in Barnabas's experience, nearly _always_ the correct choice.

And if he simply enjoyed Jonathan's company, what was so wrong with that? If he enjoyed a friend by his side, helping him get through things, that was fine. Barnabas liked being around people, even if he was horrible at forming bonds with them, and Jonathan, at least, knew how to indulge him.

"The problem," Jonathan declared, kneeling until he was at eye level with the little automaton, "as I see it at least, is that this is far too unique to have been made in a week or so, at least on one's own. And the effort required for it to imitate the faces of you and your assistants makes me worry as to your admirer's motivations. No matter who they are, they seem to know you intimately, and if you don't know who _they_ are, the problem of power dynamics arises." John stood back up and crossed his arms.

"I don't think it's right. But, it doesn't seem to be outwardly dangerous. I question your choice to have it in your bedroom, but as complicated as it may be, it can't exactly kill you with its presence." John rubbed his hands together as he spoke, a common thing for him when he wanted to calm his senses. The noise and the friction, he claimed, were relaxing, and Barnabas took him at his word.

Jonathan could be paranoid sometimes, or worrisome, but he did at least care for Barnabas's safety. Jonathan went on, with ideas for how to perhaps catch out who the admirer was, ways to safeguard any attempts at kidnapping or murder should this admirer turn out to be a darker sort, and general best practices when dealing with a stranger. Barnabas listened to some of it, and tried to keep focused on what his friend was saying, but after a while, any long thread of words just became noise in Barnabas's brain. He kept his head up straight, and did what he could to at least pretend he was paying attention. Jonathan was used to his quiet flights away from reality, and rarely begrudged him the time spent apart from his own mind. This was enough, for the time being. Barnabas was once again content.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When the knock came, Barnabas was almost too busy to answer it. It wasn't because he didn't want to — far from it, such a distraction would be wonderful — but Lewis had been exhibiting rather odd behaviour recently. His headaches had somehow managed to get even worse, and though Barnabas had been as accommodating as he could muster, Lewis James was now approaching an entire week without actually doing any work.

He still showed up occasionally, to be sure, but he never properly worked. He just stared at the fabrics and looked hungry, as if he wanted nothing more in the world than to devour them. Multiple times, Greer or Barnabas had offered him some of their own food, but Lewis always turned them down. He claimed he wasn't hungry, but Barnabas quietly decided it was his pride that was making him say that. Something was horribly wrong with Lewis's life at the moment, and perhaps some time away from work, with a stipend from Barnabas's pocket, would do him good.

Of course, that meant that Barnabas had to actually budget some decent stipend for Lewis to take the time off, and that would be coming out of his own pocket. Barnabas was trying to count that bit out, a per day capita along with something extra to help with whatever he was dealing with, and then — the knock. Which he couldn't just _ignore._

So he was a little frazzled when he showed up at the front door, a few pins stuck in his vest for easy access. "Good evening, boys! Sorry I can't invite you in again — it's been a hell of a week, if you'll pardon my language." The two men were as stone-faced as ever, and Barnabas maintained the sunniest disposition that he could. "I have been thinking, though, that perhaps you'd like to get fitted for some new clothes one of these days? When I'm less busy, maybe I could thank you for all the work you've done in delivering these packages."

The men looked at one another with that long gaze Barnabas had come to understand was their way of communicating with one another. They really were so very close, synchronised with each other perfectly in every way. Barnabas had wondered once if he should be jealous of how well they seemed to know each other, but he couldn't begrudge them their closeness for long. Their business was their own, and who was he to nose in on that?

Eventually, one of them spoke — the larger one, the one who Barnabas had once managed to crack a smile. "New gift for Bennett," he intoned, looking to his other half to shove the gift into Barnabas's hands. It was becoming routine now, and as always, Barnabas opened it in front of them to find a doll, around the length of Barnabas's forearm. It looked almost lifelike at first glance, but when Barnabas picked it up, he felt the give of fabric underneath his fingers, no wooden bones keeping it together. He turned it around in his hands, marvelling at the craftsmanship, and the likeness the maker managed to put into such a small thing. He still wasn't very good at placing faces, but the hair, he thought, was a dead giveaway.

"It's fascinating how this admirer seems to know so much about me. This doll is the spitting image of one of my assistants — even the hair looks the same! Is this real human hair, that's very impressive." A bit macabre, to be fair, but Barnabas had seen such things before. Better on a doll than in a wig on his own head, at least.

The delivery men looked almost amused as Barnabas squeezed the thing's belly, giving each other those sideways glances Barnabas was growing to know so well. Barnabas handed them their standard payment of a crown each once more, and gently closed the door on them to set the Lewis doll on his work desk. His little poppet doll could have a friend now.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Lewis James, as it turned out, did not return to his post, and the next month involved even more scrabbling about to try and maintain some sense of normalcy. Greer was overworked, Barnabas was overworked, and neither of them had any real idea as to how to find a new assistant for the shop. Greer and Lewis had just...gravitated to Barnabas once he'd opened the place up, a pair of youths trying to improve their station in life. Barnabas had been more than happy to help, and trained the two of them as well as he could in what he knew best. It was the closest Barnabas ever intended on coming to being a parent, so the loss of Lewis was something close to devastating.

Still. Barnabas still had one loyal assistant, and he wasn't going to let Greer down. They kept working, and in his off-hours Barnabas worked with the strange length of leather the delivery men had given to him. It was a wonderful piece, really, and it felt like a crime to cut it, but Barnabas thought it might look even nicer as a purse. The excess leather was carefully saved and put into a box, and Barnabas was rather content with his work, though Greer seemed less confident in the execution. ("Maybe stick to proper tailory, and leave leatherworking to the leatherworkers.")

And, of course, when the delivery men came knocking, Barnabas answered, graciously accepting their gifts and offering them little presents in return — sometimes food, sometimes little knit gifts, sometimes just a little more than their usual payment. They really were kind men, and though Barnabas was no closer to finding his mystery admirer, he was beginning to view the two men as something like his friends despite himself.

If they were friends, then, perhaps Barnabas ought to do a little something extra for them.

When they came to his door in early October, Barnabas was ready for them. He welcomed them in before they even had a chance to knock, tea already at the ready. "It's fantastic to see you two again, really! I've been thinking about things, and I thought that I might, ah, ask if you were ready to have me make you a set of garments!"

The men looked skeptically at one another, and Barnabas rushed to continue. "I would fit them for you, of course, and all I would need is a pass at measuring you, and a second sitting to make sure I've fitted them correctly. It's nothing too complicated, I just — well, don't take this personally, but you two always seem to be wearing the same clothes, and I think you might like to have some variety in your ensembles." He clasped his hands together hopefully and looked between the two of them, waiting for a response.

As usual, they didn't give one for a while. Barnabas supposed their English wasn't terribly good, but he could be patient about it. There was no harm in waiting for them to process what he'd said, and after a fashion, the two of them nodded together.

"Would be nice to have new clothings," said the larger one.

"Some time since we knew good seamster," chimed in the other.

"Very useful tool in business."

"Could be very handy."

It was delightful, how well they meshed with one another, bouncing back and forth as easy as breathing. Barnabas wished he could have something like that — maybe, when his secret admirer finally found the courage to reveal themselves, the two of them would have that easy rapport. He watched the two of them share the same frequency instead, and cheerfully picked up his measuring tape as they nodded in unison once again, confirming their decision to themselves and their new tailor.

"Fantastic! Now, you two are very similar in height, but you're not exactly the same, so I'll have to measure the two of you separately. Whichever one of you wants to go first, you can just stand over there and hold out your arms when you're ready?"

The smaller one stood up, and Barnabas began to measure him up. He was certainly quite large, but Barnabas was used to strange measurements in his line of work. He chattered along as he went, though only the larger one ever really responded to him, and the work, eventually, was finished.

"I'll try to get these done by next week. Then I'll do a few final adjustments, and you two will look better than anything." He clapped the two on the shoulders (though it was a bit of a reach) and waved them out.

It was only once they were gone that Barnabas realised they'd brought another package with them. He opened it up hastily, and took out a beautiful porcelain mask from its careful packaging. The face looked strangely familiar, though Barnabas couldn't quite tell where he knew it from. He'd always been awful with that sort of thing.

  
  


Outside, the two men walked away, hands linked together.

"I like that one."

"No taking his face."

"Wonder if he would want a place with us."  
  
"Could always use a new tailor."


End file.
